


C'est La Vie

by NaeAnBelle



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: A little angst, F/M, First Meetings, Music, Romance, a little fluff, live performance, meeting at a bar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-10-19 13:49:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10641117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaeAnBelle/pseuds/NaeAnBelle
Summary: Y/N has recently moved back to DC, but feels lonely and disconnected. An amateur musician, she performs one night at a local bar, and connects with a man who has some of the saddest eyes she's ever seen. Little does she know, it's the year anniversary of the worst day of his life. Can Y/N make new friends within the team and help Spencer through his grief and onto something new?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this on my phone earlier this week and suddenly realized I had about three chapters of story. There's more I want to pursue with this, definitely, so I'll try to update regularly. Please let me know what you think!

I sighed and rubbed my arm nervously as I watched the beautiful, willowy woman gracefully accept the applause following her performance and exit the little stage. Her long hair flowed down her back and she had managed to make a simple blouse and skirt look amazing, making me wonder if I looked silly and over-dressed in comparison. My stomach quaked as it always did before a performance, even though most of the people in the little DC bar had trickled out. I had gone to college in the area and moved back after almost a decade away, and the changes to the once-familiar place were alarming. However, it was reassuring to see the tucked away bar still open, and I decided after a few more years of music experience under my belt, I could fulfill my little dream of performing in this place.

As I heard my name called and trooped up the steps clumsily in my midi length summer dress patterned with dinosaurs and my acoustic guitar, my self confidence dissolved and I grew convinced I looked ridiculous. I had embraced a more quirky clothing style when I was younger, and moving back to a place of my youth inspired me to chase that again, so when I had bought the dress a few days ago, I figured why not. The cut of the dress was 50’s inspired, perfectly accentuated the smallest part of my waist, and the coloring flattered my complexion-- I felt confident in it.

But now as I said on the wooden stool at the back of the bar and faced a crowd of professional looking strangers drinking in suits with their sleeves rolled up in the warm summer air, I wanted to bolt. I felt a little bit like an elementary school teacher in my getup. I imagined the trained eyes of all these professionals on me were wondering if I was about to sing them an educational jingle and wanted to melt with embarrassment.

I scanned the crowd in the few spare seconds I had as one of the bartenders-turned-temporary-stagehand adjusted the mics for me. The part of my brain that had been performing for years clicked into place in these few moments, and I automatically tested my throat and sat up straighter as I analyzed my audience. It didn't really matter what I looked like, if I could decipher the perfect song for the mood of the room and play it for them.

More people had left and those remaining were close to the stage, and the night felt like it was winding down. That meant I could go with something more intimate and soft, just not too moody. My eyes fell upon the biggest group remaining, a little clique of people in professional clothing that all seemed to be simultaneously drunk, loopy, and very familiar with each other. One stood out though, perhaps the youngest and closest to my age was a man with curly brown hair who was eyeing my dress. He was hard to read, mouth quirked into an imitation of a smile that didn't reach his deep set eyes. Was he laughing at me? No, he seemed... just tired. Bone tired. I wondered why he was out drinking when he looked so unwell. But in that instant he suddenly realized I was looking back and we made eye contact. And then he smiled for real. And the set list I had mentally been preparing flew out the window.

Eyes that full of kindness and sadness all swirling together deserved something special, I decided.

"Hi all, I'm Y/N Y/L/N,"

I said with a little wave before adjusting my guitar and smiling at the fakey smattering of applause. They didn't need to applaud yet, it was my job to give them a reason to.

"Thanks everybody, I'm gonna sing a little for you now."

And then I dove in. I started with Sunrise by Norah Jones which was really more of a coffeehouse vibe but I couldn't resist, it had come to mind the second I'd met eyes with that handsome man.

_ "Sunrise, Sunrise, looks like morning in your eyes/but the clock's held 9:15 for hours..." _

I started out soft and eased a little croak into my voice before building up the volume and clarity, crescendoing at the bridge and falling back to softness at the last chorus. I tried not to focus on the man and when I got lost in the song, my eyes closed for most of it. When it ended and I opened my eyes, there was a beat of silence and for a terrible moment I wondered if I had been too vulnerable. But then a healthy dose of drunken applause and whoops broke out and I grinned, ducking my head.

When I looked back up I couldn't stop my gaze from shooting straight to that man's eyes, and he looked back at me with an expression of... Grief? Gratefulness? I couldn't understand, it was too intense. So I turned my head and cleared my throat, noting the two older men behind him seemed to be appreciating my vocals, and launched into my cover of a sixties rock song for them.

This one had a faster rhythm and brought the energy back into the room. Once again I felt magnetically drawn to look at that man again, and saw him clap along with a polite smile plastered to his face. I felt oddly disappointed, like he'd retreated and left me somehow. There were a few more performers waiting to go on after me so I decided to wrap up early.

"Thanks everyone, I'm gonna wrap it up with one more, this is my favorite song so I thought it might be nice to end with."

I adjusted myself as the claps died down and started strumming the intro to "La Vie En Rose." As I did so I once again looked over at the man, and his eyes held mine. I felt like I couldn't let go, his gaze analyzing something deep within me but giving nothing about himself away. I was determined to open him up. So I opened up for him. I sang my lifelong favorite song with honesty and tenderness, watching him as I stroked the guitar strings, watching the tightness in his eyes loosen at my careful vibrato;

_ "Hold me close and hold me fast/the magic spell you cast/this is la vie en rosa..." _

Halfway through he was smiling for real again, and my joy at the sight came through in my voice.

_ "...And when you speak angels sing from above/everyday words seem to turn into love songs..." _

I brought the last chorus to a close, ending it gentle and sweet, sighing with satisfaction as I set down my guitar. I suddenly noticed the group he was with was not clapping like they were before, rowdy and careless. Now their applause was polite and distracted as their eyes darted between him and me. Had I been that obvious? Had I done something wrong? I blushed and quickly excused myself, thanking the crowd before ducking back to my guitar case and purse.

I locked up my case with a sigh as the next musician went on. I wondered if I had embarrassed myself too much to be able to stick around for a drink and to watch the other performers, or if I should just cut my losses and go. I rubbed my neck and eyed the bar-- it was fairly spacious, I could probably make it there without bumping into that strange group, and I was feeling thirsty. So I grabbed my purse and went.

I kept my chin up and my eyes forward as I navigated to the bar, trying to maintain a polite smile and get lost in the small crowd. I made it to the bar without incident, sighing as I leaned against the old wood to wait while the barkeep took another order.  It was then I felt a warm, calloused hand gently cup my arm, and turned to meet the kind sparkling eyes of the goateed older man from the group.

 

Well shit.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hello my dear, you were wonderful up there! I’ve seen a lot of singers in my many days and trust me, not all of them have that quality you have.”

“O-oh? Quality? Well, thank you, that’s very kind of you to say, I really appreciate it,” I felt bumbling and awkward in front of this older gentleman that seemed to be suave kindness incarnate, like an aged red wine far above my budget. He chuckled, not ready to relent;

“I mean it, you can hear a lot of character in a voice like that. You’ve got what they call an ‘old soul.”

At this it was my turn to laugh.

“I’ve been told that many times before actually-- the old soul bit. I’ve never quite been sure what it means, but I think I should be flattered.”

“Oh, you definitely should. May I buy you a drink? Would you like to come join our table for the next performance?”

“O-oh! Um…” I blanched. One part of me was dying to go over there and meet the stranger I had basically serenaded, another part of me was screaming to run. Lately the part of me that feared social interaction had been winning, and I had the sudden realization that it wasn’t healthy to let that side win every time-- I was lonely. I was back in a city that had changed and that I had not kept up with, and companionship was currently scarce in my life. So I nodded.

“That sounds lovely, thank you,” I said sincerely.

At this Mr. Luxe Goatee smiled sweetly, in an almost parental way, and got the bartender’s attention. We chatted a little about the history of the bar as we waited for our drinks, then headed back to the table, I with my glass of sangria, he with a refill of his red wine.

“I’m David Rossi by the way, though just Dave is fine,” he introduced as we were about halfway there.

“Oh! Yes, I’m--”

“Y/N Y/L/N, I remember,” he chuckled, “don’t worry, with this crowd you won’t have to repeat yourself.”

“This crowd?” I asked quietly, right as we reached said crowd, and I realized they were all staring.

Dave grinned a little wickedly.

“Ms Y/L/N, meet the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. Well, most of it anyway.”

I gulped.  

 

I looked around at a table of FBI agents and felt like an idiot. I had forgotten in my years away from DC what a hub for feds this place would obviously be. It was intimidating, to say the least, to have the eyes of six trained agents suddenly turn to analyze me. Especially after I’d obviously publicly sang at one of them. In a goddamn dinosaur dress.

I was obviously speechless so one came forward and kindly started the introductions.

“Hey there, I’m Morgan. You were great up there, honey,” he grasped my hand and shot me a shockingly white grin. I dazedly smiled back.

“I’m Emily!” popped up the beautiful dark haired woman, pulling up the equally gorgeous and inebriated blonde beside her, “and this is JJ! You have a lovely voice, Y/N.” I blushed and shook their hands, overwhelmed.

“Hi, I’m Hotchner, just Hotch is fine. It’s a pleasure to meet you, you really know how to read a room.” the other older man said, coming forward with a fatherly smile and grasping my one free hand in both of his. We met eyes and I could see his sentiment was honest.

“And hiding behind me is Spencer Reid,” he chuckled, rotating his body so the handsome man from earlier slid into my view. He had stood but was fiddling with his hands and his eyes didn’t seem to know where to land. I felt horrible; it was clear I had embarrassed him in front of his coworkers. There was an awkward beat of silence, but I realized his companions didn’t seem surprised by this, and patiently waited.

Dave, however, was apparently feeling a little less patient, and gave me a gentle push forward that caused me to stumble and slosh icy red sangria down my wrist.

“Oh!” cried out Spencer and JJ almost simultaneously, and Spencer grabbed some napkins and wiped down my hand as JJ cleaned up what landed on the table.

“It didn’t get on your dress did it?” Spencer asked.

I checked, “N-no no, I’m fine,” we met eyes as I continued, “I’m sorry.”

I meant it for more than the spill and I think he understood, something about his eyes made me feel very readable.

“It’s quite alright,” he said softly. His voice had a certain croak to it and he sort of drew out the ends of his words with a slight quiver; I found it oddly endearing. His pink lips quirked in a smile and he finally took my other hand to give it a little shake,

“It’s...nice to meet you, Ms Y/L/N.”

I blushed, still in his warm grasp; “Just Y/N is fine.”

I heard a low whistle and looked around in time to see Emily eyeing our joint hands before shooting a look at Hotch. I felt like I was missing maybe twenty different things all at once. Personal things within this group of people that I, who had just stumbled into them, had no possible knowledge of.

“I think the next act is starting,” said Dave with a wink, “care to join us?”

He pulled out an extra chair from a nearby table and set it next to Spencer. I sat with a quiet thank you, and Emily, Morgan, and Dave launched into a few basic getting-to-know-you questions as the next act, a young bearded man with a mandolin, set up. How long had I been in DC? Moved back about a month ago after going to college in the area almost a decade ago. How long had I been singing? Since I was a child, took vocal lessons for ten years and then taught myself guitar in my early 20s. What do I do? Restore and catalogue art and manuscripts for museums, moved back to work within the DC Mall for a couple of places, mostly the Nation Gallery of Art and the National Portrait Gallery. So music was just a hobby? Yes, I’m no songwriter and I never considered myself good enough to do much with it, but I like performing in little coffee shops and bars, I’d been doing it since college.

Finally I was able to get a question in of my own, admitting that I didn’t really know much about the BAU unit, and Hotch politely explained that they profiled human behavior to catch serial killers, among other things. So, I thought to myself, I had somehow wound up at a table full of monster hunters. What an odd night. 

At this point the next act was introducing himself so we quieted and looked to the stage. Except Spencer. I could feel his eyes on me the whole time I had talked, even though he had kept quiet, and they were still on me now. I felt very self conscious, like my every move was being analyzed, and tried to relax and just focus on the performer’s instrumental set of traditional folk songs.

It was while we were all applauding at the end of the first song that Spencer finally spoke.

“But you’re definitely good enough,” he said quietly, and clearly just to me.

“What?” I asked, finally turning and meeting his eyes, and oh, it felt like a relief to look at him, to finally drink him in up close.

“You’re definitely good enough to sing professionally,” he said, absolutely matter-of-fact. I blinked, my lips fell open just slightly. Once again I was speechless.

I found my voice just as the performer was introducing his second song.

“O-oh, thank you, but I really-- I mean, I don’t know about that.”

I was thinking I must seem like a fumbling idiot in comparison to all of them, but when I looked back up he just met my eyes again and gave a gentle smile.

“You seem to have some profiling skills as well, I saw you reading the room before you sang.” 

At this I blushed, but a few sips of sangria had given me a little courage, and I quietly responded,

“Well I  _ was _ reading the room, but… then I just read you.”

  
The second song had started so we both fell silent. My stomach churned; had I gone too far? I willed myself to look out of the corner of my eye— he was blushing, lips quirked to the side in a little smile, hands fumbling. Oh man. He was too cute. 


	3. Chapter 3

In the space between songs Spencer and I quietly chatted some more, ignoring the unsubtle eyes and smirks of the group around us. He told me he liked my dress, I confided in him that I had been worried it was too unusual, and he had quietly crossed a foot over his leg to pull up the hem of his slacks and reveal he was wearing a dinosaur-patterned sock, making us both quietly laugh. 

When the mandolin player had finished, to much drunken applause from the crowd, the barkeep announced that the last performer had had to leave suddenly, so the musical acts were done for the night. We all stayed at the table and kept chatting as shitty pop crackling through the old speakers replaced the live music, and internally I was more excited to be able to talk with this intriguing group than to see another act. 

They didn’t talk about their work much— I could tell from their language that it was a complicated subject and I assumed it was something difficult to discuss with an outsider, so I steered the conversation away from the FBI. As people who had been working together for years they seemed more interested in learning about someone new anyway, and shot me question after question. I would have been worried I was boring them if they weren’t all so responsive. Dave and Morgan would pick up on small bits of information and relate it back to a story about either themselves or a friend and retell it; Emily and JJ would express similar likes or dislikes and we’d dive into new avenues of topics that way— they both liked my dress and told me it reminded them of their other coworker, Garcia, the mention of which made Morgan laugh fondly. Hotch stayed the most quiet, but he and Spencer would pick up on information about my work, and inquire more about art restoration and the history of museum work, which I could excitedly prattle on about for hours but tried to spare the rest of them and keep it short. 

As Spencer got more comfortable it seemed he had some new factoid to contribute to any topic, which I found fascinating. I felt my eyes grow wide when someone at the table finally revealed his genius status and eidetic memory. Internally I thought being that good looking _and_  a genius was just unfair. Eventually I realized we’d been chatting and laughing for almost two and a half hours— it was 2 am and the bar was practically empty. Spencer and I had gradually gravitated towards one another throughout the night, our legs now almost touching under the table. Morgan, Emily, and JJ were practically dozing on the table, and Hotch just watched quietly as Dave and Spencer asked me more about my music. 

“So _have_  you ever tried songwriting?” asked Dave, swirling the dregs of his wine in his glass. 

“Oh yeah, but it was god awful,” I laughed, “I’m really not a songwriter. To me the appeal sort of comes from covering a song and making it my own, adding my own personal touches to the sound and then emotionally relating it to myself, if that makes any sense. It’s rather therapeutic actually.” 

Spencer nodded, 

“That makes sense, I think that comes across in your music. Did you know what songs you wanted to do ahead of time?” he asked, almost too casually taking a sip of his drink. 

“Aha,” I laughed, “well no, part of what I like to do while performing is… read the room right before, to determine the best songs to use. I think the spontaneity kind of adds to it somehow. I don’t know. I try not to think about it too hard, just feel it out.” 

Dave nodded sagely, “An empathic singer. Interesting.”

Then Spencer quietly asked, “So what did you read in the room tonight?”

At this I fell silent. Hotch and Dave made a motion towards the bar to freshen up their drinks, asking if Spencer or I wanted another, but we both declined. When they left I turned to Spencer, and took a deep breath. 

“I read…a deep exhaustion, and maybe grief. And I read kindness, and concern, and humor, and intelligence. I felt… a darkness, and I wanted to bring some light to that space. It… seemed like it needed it.” 

His eyes searched mine. I was definitely a little drunk, as was he. I wondered what I must look like in his eyes, this uppity stranger that assumed so much and tried to heal something she had no business even seeing. But a grin played on his lips, and he replied, a little croak in his voice: 

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone speak so openly before. Most people don’t really see things like that, or talk about them if they do.” 

“Ha, yeah,” I grimaced, rubbing my neck, “it’s probably weird, huh.” 

At this Spencer’s brows furrowed, “No, not at all.” 

 

We made eye contact again. And it felt like before, like the first time, when I could read so much but understand so little. In my inebriated state it was even more confusing. What sadness had this person experienced to have eyes like that?

 

And then Dave and Hotch were back, and Morgan, JJ, and Emily seemed to rally. 

“We’re actually being kicked out,” Dave said with a laugh, his thumb pointed back at the bar, “I got the tab so we’re good to go. Y/N, do you have your guitar?”

“What?” I asked, wide-eyed, “Oh, you didn’t need to pay for my—“ 

“Oh, honey, don’t worry, he’s a best-seller,” Emily said, tossing her hand as she shrugged on her blazer with a sluggish grin. I looked to Spencer, confused. 

“He’s a very wealthy author, with some old fashioned morals,” he said, chuckling at my expression. 

I still thanked Dave profusely, before going to fetch my guitar from the side of the stage. We stumbled out of the bar together, out into the deliciously refreshing summer night breeze. We all waited to flag down taxis together, and there was a beat of awkwardness where we had to figure out who should go in which car, determined by who lived closest to each other. I realized I lived closest to Emily and Spencer, so we eventually waved down a taxi together. 

“Let us know when and where your next performance will be!” Dave said with a wave and a wink before piling into another car with Hotch, JJ, and Morgan. I grinned and waved back, following Spencer into the car and settling on the middle seat before Emily clambered in and shut the door behind us, giving the driver directions. Emily and I chatted about her cat, while Spencer fell mostly silent. She put my number in her phone before the cab pulled up to her place, as she was the closest spot, and gave me a little side hug before paying her fare and waving goodbye to us both. I grinned as I watched the dark haired woman enter her apartment— I hoped I’d get to know her better. 

I made to slide to the seat Emily had vacated, already preparing myself for the loss of Spencer’s warmth beside me, but it felt like the proper thing to do. But then Spencer gave me a small shock, by shooting out his hand to hover above my leg as I made to move, stopping me without touching me. He seemed frozen in uncertainty as the taxi pulled off from the curb, headed to my place. I glanced at him; his lips were curled inward in nervousness. I reached up and carefully took his hand, guiding our joined hands to rest on my knee. With my palm up I kept my fingers loose, so it would be easy for him to slip away. But after another beat his fingers tightened. I spent the rest of the ride studying our hands, memorizing the feel of his long fingers laced through mine and the light smell of his deodorant next to me, and the lingering stench of the bar hanging around both of us. 

When we reached my address Spencer declared he could walk the rest of the way to his place, paid the fare before I could protest, and got out to hold the door open for me, fetching my guitar out of the trunk. The cab drove off. I silently led the way into my building and up to the second floor where I lived. We got to my door and I stopped and leaned against it. Moonlight filtered in from the hallway window, and we looked at each other. This wasn’t a circumstance I would normally feel safe in, but Spencer being an FBI agent and the kind of person I had gotten to know in the past few hours, I wasn’t worried. There was no expectation in his eyes, no asking for anything more than this. I got the feeling that he just hadn’t been ready to say goodbye yet. Spencer’s eyes looked heavy again. Like he wanted to convey something he didn’t have words for. 

 

Finally I broke the silence. 

“Hand me your phone,” I almost whispered. 

I typed my name and number into his contact list before sliding it back into his hand. 

“If you ever need to talk, about anything, you can talk to me.”

He looked down at his phone, and then back up at me, solemn. He nodded. 

“Thank you,” he croaked. “You really don’t have to…” 

I took his hand and squeezed. 

“It seems like you really need it, though.” 

I leaned forward and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. I gently took my guitar from his hand and unlocked my door. 

“Goodnight Spencer, get home safe.” 

I turned and smiled at him. He looked a little dazed, with a hand halfway to his face. But he returned the smile. 

“Goodnight, Y/N. I will,” 

 

And then he turned and trooped down the stairs. 

I sighed and locked the door behind me. 

 

What a night. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, this was about 4,000 words on my phone, I thought it would be best to divide into shorter chapters like this rather than one big monster. More of this will be coming soon, in addition to another fic I also started yesterday on my phone lol. I'm finishing up school and graduating and moving soon so there might be a gap in my ability to post for awhile. Hope you enjoyed!


	4. Chapter 4

It had been almost a week since that night at the bar and Spencer hadn’t contacted me. Emily had texted me to get her number in my phone and we’d chatted a bit; she mentioned they were traveling on a big case and then it was radio silence. Because of this I wasn’t too worried about the lack of contact from Spencer, I anticipated that their work would keep them busy. I had also been the one to give him my number and not receive his for a reason-- I wanted him to come to me, as a safety measure. If he had sobered up the next morning and realized some stranger telling him he could open up to her was ridiculous and he wasn’t interested, that was fine. I wanted him to have an easy out. But I couldn’t help but find myself daydreaming about those brown eyes almost daily. Was it okay to miss someone I barely knew?  
  
I still had my own life to get on with however. I had been practically haunting a local cafe near my apartment since I moved there, and once when I had stopped in with my guitar case in hand, the manager asked if I performed and we struck up a conversation. He had been looking into getting live music on the weekends, and asked if I’d be willing to perform that Saturday. I happily agreed. Work wasn’t all that busy yet, I was still getting used to the cataloguing system of two different museums, and my coworkers were all a great deal older than me and not very talkative. I loved the work I did but I knew I would need social stimuli from elsewhere.  

  
All of this led up to a warm late Saturday morning, in which I woke up early, selected a light long skirt, off shoulder blouse, and comfortable worn sandals, threw on a bit of makeup, and padded down the street to the cafe with my guitar. The nice manager I had spoken to got me set up, it was a small cafe with good acoustics so no mic was needed. The wide doors of the place had been thrown open to bring in a breeze and tempt customers with the smell of coffee and the sound of my music. I was instructed to play a full set before the manager left to help the barista.

The patrons were varied, a couple groups of parents with little children, some college students working on laptops, a few business people having casual meetings. Some light and breezy music would be good for this warm day. I started with some songs by Sam Phillips, closing my eyes and letting the world melt away, knowing that because I was going mostly unnoticed in the corner of the shop I could do so. I just wanted to be in the background, helping set the scene for the rest of these people’s day. No one applauded after the first few songs; I knew the morning crowds of coffee shops rarely knew live music etiquette. No matter, I was just enjoying the sensation of my vocal chords comfortably humming in the warm air.

 

_“If I could write I’d set all the words free/to follow you_

_Tell you wonder, tell you secrets/and solitude..._

_...Nothing is small, nothing is unexpected/_

_I want more, and when I go this time… don’t think I’m coming back”_

 

My eyes were still closed when I finished the song, but they flew open at the sound of one person clapping. Dr. Spencer Reid had taken a seat at a little table right near me, looking flushed and grinning ear to ear as he clapped. The rest of the morning patrons seemed to realize that they should probably also applaud, and joined in. I ducked my head and thanked my little audience, shooting a grin at Spencer. Oh boy, now my setlist was changing again.

 

_“I turn tables and speak too softly/I don’t make much sense,_

_I don’t make much sense…_

_“You and I are one too many worlds apart/_

_It really shouldn’t work but it does,_

_It really shouldn’t work but it does…”_

 

I had to work to not choose too pointed songs, knowing he was attentively listening to each lyric. I went back to some old songs, worn and comfortable like a favorite shirt, things I felt confident playing so I could direct the attention just to the sound and less on any lyrics. I didn’t have any specific lyrics to direct at him yet. I needed to know him more.   
  
I finished the full set and the manager came up to thank me, giving me a small payment and asking if I’d be free next week for the same schedule-- the response was a little slow but he figured if he could set it up as a regular schedule it could bring in some new customers. I agreed and thanked him but was mostly distracted, trying to ignore Spencer moving to the counter to order. I packed up my guitar and took a seat at the table where he had watched me, and waited.   
  
In a few minutes he returned holding two iced coffees, setting one down in front of me and taking his seat.   
  
“Oh, thank you!” I exclaimed, surprised. I took a sip-- it was a light caramel color and heavily sweetened, just how I liked it. “How did you know how I take my coffee?”

He laughed.   
  
“I uh, I guessed? Based on your drink choices from the other night I could statistically determine the likelihood of you taking your coffee with cream and sugar and my chances were pretty good so…” he shrugged.   
  
I just smiled at him, dopey eyed for a moment. He laughed at my expression,   
  
“What?”   
  
“It’s just nice to see you again. You know, in daylight, sober.” I gestured outside and laughed. It felt so good and natural to talk to him again, and he seemed to be in a better mood than the other night, though I noted his dark circles were obvious in the summer light.

“It’s nice to see you too, Y/N,” he smiled, “I heard your voice from outside and recognized you so I came in, it must be my lucky day. It was good to hear you again.”

  
I felt my face heating up.

“S-so how have you been? Emily texted me earlier and said you guys had to travel for a case?”

Some small muscle in his forehead twitched, and I thought his eyes grew a little darker,   
  
“Ah yeah, it was a kind of a rough one but we got him.”   
  
He didn’t elaborate, just rubbed the inner corner of his eyes.   
  
“Are you okay?” I asked softly, “you look pretty tired.”   
  
“Ah, yeah I just… don’t sleep that much.” he popped his head back up and tried a reassuring grin that didn’t quite fit.

“Is it… is it okay if I ask why that is?” The cool condensation on my glass made my hands feel even clammier than they were but I gripped it tight.

“Um… could we maybe talk about it later? It’s such a nice day, I’d rather talk about other things right now.”  
  
“Oh, of course, that’s totally fine, no pressure I just wanted--”   
  
“Y/N,” he briefly covered one of my hands with his over the glass, “It’s okay.”   
  
He looked at me reassuringly and nodded. I nodded back.

We chatted for over an hour about other things, getting to know each other. I found out about his obsession with chess, his love of sugar, his hometown, though he glossed over his family and school life. I figured there was more to that but it was still early to discuss. In return I confessed my obsession with solitaire on my cell phone, how I put cinnamon in almost everything, what it was like growing up in a southwestern city I never felt particular attachment to.

We finally edged into the topic of work and I found out just how much his job meant to him, how it was all he would ever want to do and maybe he was made for it. How the rest of the team would occasionally give him a hard time for being the way he was but at the end of the day they were like family. Spencer told me the different pranks he and Morgan would play on each other, giggling like a kid. He fondly told me of JJ’s son, and how proud he was to be a godfather. He told me something cryptic about Emily, that she had had to go away for awhile and then came back, and it was still a strange feeling seeing her there.

Spencer did most of the talking, flying off into tangents about science or literature or mathematics in a way that made my head spin. I felt like I learned more talking to him in that warm morning than I had my entire last semester of college. I told him so and was rewarded with genuine surprise and joy-- most people just wanted him to shut up and get to the point.

Those people are fools, I thought to myself as I watched his eyes light up with another topic, knowledge he was desperate to share dancing off his tongue and hands gesticulating in a whirl of organized chaos. Absolute fools.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs referenced are "If I Could Write" by Sam Phillips and "When it Comes to Us" by Frances and Ritual.


	5. Chapter 5

We chatted in the cafe for over an hour, the leftover ice in our glasses melting completely in the balmy air. We seemed to notice how much time had passed simultaneously. 

"Oh! I'm sorry, did you have something else to do today? You were just passing by, right?" I asked. 

"Oh yeah I was just headed to the bookstore, but it's no problem, it's my day off." 

"Ooh a bookstore? Where? I'm still pretty new to this neighborhood, when I lived here before I was much closer to the university." 

"Would you like to come with me? T-that is if you're not busy," Spencer quirked his lips nervously to the side, like he had spoken before really thinking. 

"Yes, I would love to," I replied happily. "I'm free today and I'd love to find some new books to read during my lunch breaks, maybe you can give me some recommendations?" I stood from the table and grabbed our empty glasses to return to the cafe's dish bin. I turned to see him nodding. 

"Oh definitely! What genres do you like?" 

I grabbed my purse and guitar and we stepped out of the cafe together, strolling down the street in the direction of the bookstore. 

"Well," I replied, "could you maybe find me something about serial killers and behavioral profiling? I'd like to see everyone again and not be the only one without any knowledge on the subject. Plus it seems like fascinating work," I added. 

This was something I'd been considering as he talked; it was true I wanted to be able to converse with the group of wonderful people I'd met the other night but I also had the urge to become smarter for Spencer. It was a strange feeling, he knew so much it made me thirst for knowledge.

I thought Spencer would approve of my desire to learn about the work he devoted himself to, but he was silent. I looked over at him when it had gone on a beat too long, and witnessed an expression on his face I felt like I wasn't supposed to see. He seemed conflicted, and suddenly much older, and that same tiredness I had seen when I first met him was back. 

But like a passing shadow it was quickly gone, and he looked back over at me with a more neutral expression. 

"I think I can find you some books on behavioral psychology you'll like, it's a bit like what you do intuitively with music."

He was deflecting. It felt like there was something about the realm of his work he wanted to keep me out of. I was a little frustrated that I couldn't understand, but supposed it was a part of him he would only reveal over more time. We had only just met, after all. But something about Spencer made me want to dive straight into deeply personal topics; i wanted to know him fully, and I wanted him to know me. I felt impatient that I didn't already know more about this person I was so drawn to.

All these feelings flicked across my brain as I gave an approving response, not wanting to dig into what bothered him and risk making him uncomfortable. This seemed to cheer Spencer up, and he talked happily about psychology as we walked leisurely in the sunshine. I enjoyed the warm air on my skin that floated on a breeze, the sound of his voice and padding tennis shoes as we walked, the crinkles around his eyes as he smiled at any children we passed. He laughed at my excitement at any dog or bird we saw, and named different indigenous plants and flowers for me as I pointed them out, quizzing him. 

Being with Spencer felt... easy. I didn't feel the need to analyze my own actions; I was too drawn to him and his aura of intelligence and a mix of fragility and strength to consider myself. This resulted in me being myself naturally, and he seemed to enjoy me as I was, which was reassuring.  He asked me a lot of questions about my work in the arts and music; these topics outside of his usual realm of mathematics and forensic science seemed to fascinate him. I felt like I could talk and listen to him for days and never get bored. 

When we reached the bookstore he introduced me to the owner who was working the register; I was less than surprised to see they knew each other by name. Spencer shot straight to the books he thought would interest me, pulling them out and piling them up in his long arms. I left my guitar by the register joined him to take a few books out of his hands and begin scanning the backs as he gave me detailed synopses of the ones I took interest in. A good amount he already owned and said I could borrow, but I selected two I was most interested in to purchase. Then I insisted on trying to find something I had read that he hadn't, which made him laugh and my heart to float. 

I finally found a small, squat volume on Italian art restoration and shoved it towards him victoriously. But he plucked it from my hands, scanned the cover, and smirked. 

"I actually read this for a forgery case a few years back," he handed the book back to me and laughed at my expression of exaggerated disappointment. 

"Okay, I admit defeat," I laughed, “Name your prize." 

He looked actually thoughtful for a moment, placing a finger on his chin. 

"Hmm... a song request?" Spencer asked seriously. I was surprised. 

"Really? I-I mean, that's not much of a prize for you, I love singing for friends," I blurted out, feeling my face grow warm.

A smile spread across Spencer's face and it felt like watching the sun rise. 

"Oh, it's definitely a great prize," he replied. 

I smiled back at him, "Okay, anytime." 

He insisted on paying for my books, arguing that he had recommended them and was the only reason I would be spending the money anyway. I grumbled but agreed on the condition I could pay him back. Clouds were forming and the air cooled a little as we stepped out, and I felt my stomach gurgle-- it was mid afternoon and I hadn't eaten. The shop was across the street from a large public park, and in the park sat a food truck advertising tacos. I excitedly pointed it out to Spencer and we headed there together; he carried the books for me as I held my guitar case. 

After we ordered I managed to slide in and pay for us both, which he accepted with only a bit more grace than I had when he bought the books. We found a suitable bench in the park and both ate ravenously. Being both from the southwest, we knew the struggle to find good Mexican food on the east coast, and the tacos were authentic and delicious.

We finished eating and both fondly watching some children play by the park's fountain, a comfortable silence usually reserved for much older relationships hanging between us. A fat raindrop plopped onto the hard leather of my guitar case. Spencer looked up at the darkening clouds and held out a palm, feeling a few drops hit his skin. It was so peaceful, his sharp jawline accentuated by the angle of his head, the contemplative expression on his face, ruffled hair falling away from his brow. I needed a snapshot of this moment. 

Without saying a word I took out my guitar, nestled it in my lap and against my breast, feeling a bit like an artist trying to sketch someone in public without getting caught. 

 

_ "I was unafraid, I was a boy, I was a tender age/ _

_ Melic in the naked, knew a lake and drew the lofts for page/ _

_ Hurdle all the waitings up, know it wasn't wedded love, why/ _

_ 4 long minutes end and it was over it'd all be back..." _

 

I could feel him watching me, and heard the children by the fountain pointing me out to their parents, but I let the world slide away. I felt rain drops slowly pat onto my arms and shoulders and slide down. I heard birds chirping above us, the drops hitting the ground, cars rumbling by, and my own voice, flowing easily from me like a waterfall I couldn't contain. I felt comfortable shutting off from the world while right in the middle of it, knowing Spencer was beside me. 

 

_ "...No it wasn't maiden-up, the falling or the faded luck, why/ _

_ Hung up in the ivory, both were climbing for a finer cause/ _

_ Love can hardly leave the room/ _

_ With your heart" _

 

I finished and opened my eyes. Everything looked soft and damp and greener. I turned and Spencer was closer to me than I remembered, and looked at me with a tenderness I hadn't seen on him before. He reached across that short distance and entered my world, cupping the side of my face with a cool palm still a little wet with raindrops. And I leaned naturally into his side, our eyes meeting for a second before sliding closed in sync, before I (finally, finally) pressed my lips to his soft pink ones.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Michigant" by Bon Iver, the best rainy day song <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have a confession... I've actually had this chapter written for months, I thought it wasn't long enough to be a chapter for ages before realizing that was what was holding me back on just continuing the story. So it's a little short but hopefully will help me start fresh. Very sorry for the long wait, I have a lot further to go on this story but for now I hope you enjoy :)

We stayed in the bubble of that moment for what felt like a long time. I wished it were longer. Spencer kissed me softly, pliant with just enough pressure. It made me acutely aware of my heart thudding hard in my chest, but made everything feel slowed down. We separated and my eyelids finally slid open languidly, as if I was waking up late on a Sunday morning. The whole thing felt like biting into a perfect peach and letting the juice run down your arm without a care in the world. 

"I feel... golden," I said sleepily, not thinking much about it. Spencer nodded understandingly with a smile, his cheeks slightly reddened, and pulled me to lean against his side. Raindrops sprinkled down on us, but the air was warm and we didn't mind them. We sat for awhile, then got up and kept walking. 

We walked and talked for hours, holding hands. Eventually we switched carrying the guitar and books as the guitar grew too heavy for me. He showed me all his favorite places in the neighborhood, sprinkled with anecdotes and random facts, like the specific genus of caterpillar he had spotted on this sidewalk once, or how the chemical compounds in the paint used on the fire escape ladders broke down and caused flaking. 

Certain phrases Spencer used would remind me of songs and I would sing the bits of them as they occurred to me, making him laugh but quietly, so he could still hear me. 

"You're like a mockingbird," he said, laughing after one such time, "it's like it's uncontrollable music just pouring from you."

"What a beautiful compliment!" I turned and beamed at him. He laughed with me again, squeezing my hand. 

 

By now the sun was setting so we found a little mom and pop cafe and ate dinner, enjoying comfort food and wine at a little table outside. 

"I didn't expect this day to be filled with such good company, let alone so much good food," I said with a grin as I sipped my drink. 

Spencer laughed, "Definitely not a bad way to spend a Saturday."

He walked me home, and we fell a little quiet. I was nervous and wondered if he was too, not sure of how the night would end. In a moment of silence I thought about what I wanted and what to say. 

We reached my place and trudged upstairs, and stopped yet again at my front door. In the dark hallway I set down my bag and took the guitar from his hands, setting it down too. I stepped forward and placed my hands on his face, and he slid his arms around my waist as I reached up and kissed him. This kiss was different than the one before, still slow but more exploratory. My fingers curled in his soft hair as his hands cradled the small of my back. He was so warm and sweet, I wanted to drink him in. 

But I reigned us both in, pulling back. 

"When can I see you again?" I asked, a little breathlessly. I'd hoped this would convey my interest in continuing this, whatever it was, but at a pace we both felt comfortable with. And there was definitely more I had to learn about him. 

He nodded, understanding. 

"I can't be sure with the nature of our work, but... as soon as I can. Can I text you?" He asked, brushing my hair behind my ear. 

"Please do," I smiled, "Remember? Anytime you need to talk..." I leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, "...I'm here," I whispered.

Spencer gathered me in his long arms in a hug that somehow felt more tender and personal than the few kisses we had so far shared. We held each other for a few moments, and then he released me. It felt like a part of myself clicked into him and left me when we separated-- I felt the loss instantly. 

"Thank you for a surprisingly wonderful day," Spencer smiled, "I'll text you." 

I nodded, feeling my words sticking in my throat, "Me too." 

And with that he turned and left me in the dark. I fumbled with my keys and brought my guitar and new books inside. I leaned against my door for a moment and felt the keen loss of his warmth next to me after a full day together. But I knew I had done us both right by slowing our pace; we could take our time. There was still so much to learn.

.. 

I was turning the page of one of my new books when my phone buzzed twice on the break room table. It was two texts, one from Spencer continuing the ongoing casual conversation we had kept up for almost a week since I had last seen him, and the other a greeting from Emily. Spencer answered a question I had about a previous chapter, and I answered with a thanks and a smile. Emily I returned the greeting to, curious as to why she was reaching out. 

Emily: "So... You up for karaoke night with the girls this weekend? We need you to blow us all out of the water with that voice of yours!"

Me: "Yeah I'd love to! Who all will be there?" 

Emily: "Me, JJ, Penelope... you expecting someone else? A certain genius perhaps? ;)" 

Me: "Lol well not exactly since you did call it a girls' night :P" 

I laughed, both at her and myself, because she was right. I definitely was eager to see Spencer again. He had been on my mind far more than anything else this week, a puzzle I had only just begun the outlines of but was greatly intrigued by. 

Emily: "You've gotta let us have you for ourselves at least one night! Besides, and I'm quoting JJ here, it's a good opportunity for you to do some reconnaissance ;)" 

Me: "Uhh what? Reconnaissance?" 

Emily: "Spenceconnaissance? We'll dish about our friendly genius" 

Me: "Ohh. Lol are you sure that's ok? Shouldn't I come by it honest?" 

Emily: "Hmm perhaps. We'll talk. And drink and sing. Are you in? 

Me: "I'm in."


End file.
